Common Ground
by Detecti7e
Summary: Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint have yet another year ahead of them. With Quidditch season coming and their own lives to run, McGonagall tasks them with the mundane and annoying; taking care of their seekers. How will either of them deal with such a setback when neither of them wishes to cooperate? O/M, D/H May be M in later chapters,
1. Quidditch is more delicious than turkey

It was another beginning at Hogwarts. One eventful year had come and gone, and all it came back to was sorting the new first-year students and seeing old friends again, eating Hogwarts food over excited yelling about what everyone did over the summer. The atmosphere was warm, inviting, and impossibly jolly; it was the type of feeling that invoked feelings of comfort, feelings of optimism over the next year. Oliver Wood was enjoying his time with his dear Quidditch team, all of whom were taking bets on who in Slytherin will sustain the most bludger injuries from his teams' very own beaters Fred and George Weasley. It was something they do every year as good luck for the coming Quidditch season. It was definitely a self-fulfilling prophecy since the twins always played fairly, but brutally; taking bets was their way of making sure everyone got a little bit of Quidditch action.

"All my sickles are on Marcus Flint; I say you will hit him five times before we win first game!" Lee Jordon pushed between Fred and George and dropped his fist on the food-laden table. He opened his hand and revealed fifteen sickles, just two short of a galleon. "Come on mates, you better do me justice! That's my spending money for this month!"

"Marcus Flint?" Katie Bell snorted. "You better try for that Malfoy kid instead! He spends half his time sitting on his broom goading Potter. He makes for an easy target."

"But-" Angelina Johnson tried to cut in.

But Katie continued, "Plus, plus. statistically they are at a greater disadvantage if Harry's the only one who can catch the snitch, rain or shine, right?"

"The Slytherin chasers are super good though," Alicia Spinnet piped up. "Have you seen their scores? Arghh! It makes me sick."

"They would be better if they stopped playing so dirty. What a reputation." Angelina smirked. "Maybe they're so good because they play so dirty? Hello?"

"You know we don't like easy targets, right Fred?" George threw a side-long glance at his twin who was sporting a smile that almost cracked his face in half. The whole team knew very well that the twins always loved a challenge, though most of the team knew that Draco Malfoy would be on the receiving end of many bludgers anyway once the season starts, courtesy of Gryffindor's infamous twins.

"Right George!" Fred gave a short barking laugh and swept the coins into the pouch he prepared for the bet. He took a swig from his cup to soothe his laboured throat. He had spent much of the evening yelling and trying to increase the bets. He was largely successful as most of the people sitting next to the team joined in. Whatever happened on the Quidditch pitch would affect how everything in the bag was divided.

"And don't go targeting specific gits just to throw us off, you hear?" Lee clapped Fred's back. "It's a bloody good thing you two are not allowed to join in!"

Alicia and Angelina giggled as Fred spat out his drink, coughing. Katie just rolled her eyes.

"Captain Wood!" George boisterously elbowed his captain. "How much do you wager?"

Oliver gave it much thought and put a whole galleon on Marcus Flint. "I swear if you two don't hit him at least once you both will be on the receiving end of my rage."

"Hear hear captain!"

They all settled down to a hearty meal. As usual, Hogwarts' house elves went all out and made another fabulous feast, no doubt with more to come. Slices of turkey and a small pile of baked potatoes lined Oliver's plate. His heart was beating with anticipation as he drizzled an ounce of cranberry sauce on his turkey and accidentally poured a substantial amount of rich brown gravy on his potatoes. He dug in, and as per usual, it was the most delicious thing he ever had.

Unfortunately there was a commotion as once again Draco Malfoy decided to ignore the food and go straight for Harry Potter. Most Gryffindors ignored him as they were enjoying their food and chatting lively with their friends. Oliver had the urge to throw his potatoes at him now that Malfoy had stopped five feet away and promptly decided to antagonize Potter, but his goons were in the way. For the most part Oliver ignored them, but it was getting steadily harder to keep from being annoyed, and then angry.

"Snivelling Potter and the pet Gryffindor weasel," Draco Malfoy jeered. "It's a wonder you're still around, Weasley. I thought you'd be expelled with the horrid work you turn in. My dad always said that incompetency is how the poor get away with having no ambition." Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle chuckled loudly behind him, taking food from the Gryffindor table. "And you… Mudblood. No need to say anything more. Lots of ambition with nowhere to go, because who would want you working for them?

"I thought you'd have the mind to get better friends by now Potter; still with these riffraff. Is it because you can't get any new friends?"

All eyes that were in close proximity were on Malfoy and his apparent unwillingness to leave them alone. Harry was seething, but Hermione kept both Ron and Harry from attacking time. It was a wonder that anybody was still surprised that Malfoy came to the table once again to antagonize his seeker. Oliver cringed at the routine; anybody of a sane mind would stay away from the table, especially if he was from Slytherin. Apparently Draco Malfoy should have been put into Gryffindor since he was brave enough to walk into a wolf den and push around one of the cubs. Just when Harry (and about everybody at the table) was about to jump him and lay on him what he deserved, Professor Minerva McGonagall intervened and placed her hand firmly upon the broad of Malfoy's shoulder. The grip was tight and Oliver could see her knuckles whitening.

"Honestly Malfoy," Professor McGonagall sighed. Her face was wrinkled with lines of annoyance. "Why do you do this every year? I'm not going to take points off today since it's the first day, but keep in mind I will not be so kind next time. Repetitive infractions of the same rules attract punishment; do you want to be punished? Every year for the same thing?"

Most of the table turned back to what they were doing now that McGonagall was dealing with it, but Oliver continued to be interested. Why had Malfoy come if he knew he was going to be stopped? Slytherins usually weaved around dungeons and dealt damage in the dark where nobody could see. Oliver doubted that getting chewed out by McGonagall was the goal.

"If this happens next year I will be quite adamant to Professor Snape about having you off your team." Professor McGonagall finished and ushered them back to their table. She went back to the staff table.

Malfoy shrugged and stalked back to the Slytherin table, but not without the venomous and pompous rich boy glare that was directed that Harry Potter. Oliver let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding and continued eating. He didn't want any altercations between the team seekers until the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin later in the year. He had much on his mind when it concerned Harry Potter's well-being, especially when it came to Draco Malfoy; however, Malfoy seemed to have set his mind on bleeding Harry from the very start. Still, it was pretty early to just stick a knife in there.

The occupants at the table slowly resumed eating and talking away about anything that came to mind, though he could clearly see a noticeably uncomfortable silence amongst his seeker, the twins' little brother, and the clever bookworm Granger. Harry was simmering in his angry thoughts and prodding his food with sharp jabs. There was an almost prevalent aura of menace. The younger Weasley was having quite a bit of trouble controlling himself as well. It was only Hermione Granger that brushed Malfoy's insults aside and was currently attempting to coerce them both into a better mood by talking about the upcoming year.

Oliver turned away. It may not have been much, but he felt the thoughts of victory drain from his mind briefly. He needed to do something about Draco Malfoy or risk losing his seeker.


	2. Animosity from the competition

After the sorting finished and Dumbledore had announced the beginning of the customary Hogwarts feast, plates and utensils clashed loudly in the Great Hall. Contrary to the excited atmosphere, Marcus Flint was anything but happy. Draco Malfoy had just left the table with his dumb bodyguards to dredge up another fight with the stupid Golden Boy. He was bound to get himself kicked off the team if he kept things up like this and Marcus was not in the mood to find a new seeker. Marcus was not against pickling with the Gryffindor's seeker; however, there was a time and place for everything. Just watching him waltz his way to the Gryffindor's was enough to churn his stomach.

His jaw grinded harshly against the food in his mouth as McGonagall approached Malfoy. This was it. He was going to get his stupid, idiotic… infuriating self, kicked off the Slytherin team. It drove him mad. When Malfoy had first joined the team while bearing seven new brooms not too long ago, he had been ecstatic. Now he was firmly regretting ever feeling happy about the new addition. Not only did he spend all his time playing with Potter, he did not even catch the snitch right next to his head; it was not something he was willing to forget. It was a crushing defeat, and one he was not going to talk about to anybody. It was bad enough that they had lost every year to those insects since _Potter._

Marcus glared at Malfoy as he slinked back to the Slytherin table. He was no worse for wear than when he left.

"What was that about?" Marcus bit out through his clenched teeth. He found it extremely hard to dispel the feeling of disbelief and rage that ran through his body. Crabbe and Goyle sat further down the table and continued eating. Draco merely shrugged nonchalantly and plainly said, "I was just teaching Potter his place. Why do you care?"

He sat down in front of Marcus and proceeded to fill his plate, much to his chagrin.

"You know you could have been kicked off the team!" He slammed his hands on the table; nobody looked up or got distracted from their conversations to see what was going on; when Slytherins didn't care, they didn't care. "McGonagall has the power to do just that, and while Snape may be on your side, you'll be lucky if you get to be an extra! You know we can't afford to fool around, especially with that bastard Potter on _his_ team! Will you stop being so damn _obvious_?"

Draco Malfoy stared at him with defiance. "So what… you think he's actually skilled? It's merely luck. Don't get so worked up over it."

"I don't care! We don't _have_ another seeker!" Marcus hissed. "Theo graduated last year. No one else in Slytherin, except for you, can actually play seeker. We're short on Quidditch players as it is because Montague is gone too. Terrence is still pissed off at you and he's not willing to come back. If you can't do it, we're finished. Stop leading that moron on already and _think_ for once."

Draco pulled his lips into a mocking line. "Fine."

Marcus decided not to push him. His father Lucius Malfoy was to be respected in his wishes.

* * *

><p>The weekend had started right after the night of the feast. September first of the year had fallen on a Friday. Not many people were milling about in the halls since many that did not have special classes on the weekends ultimately chose to sleep in.<p>

Oliver had decided the night before to practice freely on the pitch early in the morning. As he felt the wind brushing roughly against his body he felt it was the best decision he could have made. He lived for Quidditch. As he was gaining speed but not really paying attention to where he was going he narrowly avoided being hit by a speeding streak of green.

"Hey Wood, pay attention!" Marcus Flint sneered at him. He was dressed in battered practice equipment. Oliver's stomach suddenly clenched and a cloud of anger rose into his throat. "It figures a dumb Gryffindor like you would not notice someone flying right at them."

"Shut up, Flint." Oliver shouted at his enemy's retreating back. He was flying away from him.

Two can play at that game... thought Oliver. He held the broom tightly with his gloved hands and leaned forward. He sped past the devil and continued doing his laps around the stadium. Not before long Marcus had caught up with him and they were speeding in the air side by side, one trying to overtake the other. Speed was Marcus' element and he was pushing ahead.

Are you sure you can compete with me? Marcus mouthed at him. Neither of them thought that he would have been heard if he spoke at the speed they were going, but there was an added bonus of Oliver constantly glaring at him with his thoughts simmering in a soup of competitive hate; he was almost there. Faster and faster they flew around the pitch, neither one slowing down in case the other overtook him.

"That's that I should be asking you!" Oliver shouted. He felt like he was going at an unimaginable speed. The only consistent thing was Marcus, and that was because they were flying like their brooms were stuck together through an invisible source. They flew around and around the stadium for an unknown amount of time, and neither of them noticed an approaching figure.

"STOP THIS NONSENSE!" Professor McGonagall shouted with her magically magnified voice. "CEASE or you WILL be punished!"

Oliver slowed his broom first, but it took a lot of effort since he was speeding so fast in one direction. He lifted the handle up and suffered a brief feeling that he was going to crash. Gradually he slowed to a comfortable speed with Flint not too far behind him. They both landed in front of her, both windswept with adrenaline pumping through them like a poison. Oliver landed and ran toward her. Marcus did so as well but with a hesitant step.

"What do you two think you're doing?" Professor McGonagall scolded them. "Even if it's you two, you should both know that at the speed you are going you are practically stunt-flying. Any wrong move and you both could have been smashed to pieces- I don't CARE how well you _think_ you can fly! You may not know it but this has happened before, and I am not one to wish for another tragedy. Classes haven't even begun and now this? A game has spectators and the only reason you have not had more serious injuries was because we cushion your fall. Stunt-flying is not the same as doing drills, and even professionals have people to lessen the injury."

The professor unmagnified her voice and stared menacingly at them both as they nodded in agreement; both were fidgeting from the adrenaline, increased by fear of McGonagall whose voice had definitely shaken them. Oliver felt that there was something different with her stare this time around. It was usually just a look with the promise of punishment, but there was a touch of contemplation with she looked between the two.

"We understand." Oliver cleared his throat nervously and asked, "May we go now professor?"

Marcus Flint looked at him with disbelief, as if he couldn't comprehend the fear of being possibly thrown in detention or the fact that it wasn't just anybody standing in front of them. Maybe it was because Oliver said "we". He took a step to the side as if he was about to run away from the scene.

"Oliver… Marcus Flint…" Professor McGonagall sighed. "I will take fifty points from the both of you, and give you something to do since you seem to have so much free time on your hands."


	3. Not a Good Day

"I will take fifty points from the both of you, and give you something to do since you seem to have so much free time on your hands."

They both snuck a distrustful glance at each other as McGonagall continued. "I want you both to make sure Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stay on relatively- I mean relatively since it is those two- good terms this year. I trust you two will do a _very_ good job."

Professor McGonagall was a very severe woman, but she was fair. Due to the nature of her request, she added, "They dig themselves so deep into each other's lives I'm starting to worry about Dumbledore's plans about establishing inter-house relationships. I honestly do not have high hopes for it at the moment, but I very much believe that it will come to fruition."

Marcus opened his mouth to interject, but the professor raised her hand to stop him.

McGonagall eyeballed them with a sort of masked kindness and a little bit of tiredness. She definitely felt it was good for them if they got along; even if it was only temporary. "Perhaps you should work on your attitudes as well… or there may just be more at stake than house points.

I know you are better than the first years. You know what rules can and cannot be."

She smiled at them with humor and a hint of hidden threat before turning to go back to wherever she came from. Oliver found it quite odd that it just so happened to be Professor McGonagall almost every time there was an altercation on the pitch.

"What the _HELL_ does she mean by 'keeping them on good terms'?" Marcus grumbled to himself. "It's a bunch of stupid Dumbledore shit! That pompous freak getting along with that stupid… ARGH! I'm _not_ getting in with this…"

He stomped off in a foul mood, obvious by the way he crushed the grass beneath his feet. He left a trail of footprints on the pitch. He ultimately ignored Oliver and headed toward the general direction of the school.

Oliver did not want to follow him, nor did he want to stay at the Quidditch pitch after getting chewed out by McGonagall. He decided to go back to Hogwarts anyway and probably go back to the dormitory, perhaps after lunch.

* * *

><p>"Hey Oliver!" Fred and George waved him over. They passed him a plate of sandwiches and started chattering on about something. He wasn't quite sure what it was about and it went on for a while with occasional input from him as he ate his sandwiches. He felt vaguely miserable, only accented by an occasional pang in his stomach that told him he was in over his head this time. The twins changed from subject to subject until it rested upon what was nagging at him on the inside.<p>

"Oh right! I saw you at the pitch with that git Flint." George smiled as he leaned forward. "What did you two get up to?"

"A fight, I presume?" Fred chimed in. He elbowed George in the side gently. "McGonagall was there too!"

"Did you lay a good one on him?" they both said simultaneously.

Oliver held up his hands and shook his head. "No. It was quite weird actually." He paused and tried to remember what happened. "We were just flying really fast and she claimed that people had died from it before or something... Then she took points off us both and told us to take care of that Malfoy kid and Harry Potter. I don't understand what she wants! Maybe I have to make sure they don't fight or something…" He slumped in his seat. "I don't know. She didn't give us detention!"

"I think you got the short end of the stick, really. Detention would have been more preferable!" Fred leaned in and clapped him on the back. "We would know too, since we get sent there all the time. It's would honestly better than working with Flint."

"Though you don't actually have to work with him…" George theorised. "All you have to do is make sure Harry and Malfoy don't really see each other outside of class."

"A bit of a hassle really…"

"But it's better than a lot of other things I suppose…"

"Alright! Alright… I get it." Oliver sighed and put his head down on the table as the twins hovered above him. "But McGonagall said something about inter-house relationships and stuff. I think she actually wants me and Flint to join together and make the school nicer or something… Dumbledore's idea she said."

Fred proceeded to fake-vomit at the mention of inter-house relationships. "Friends? With Slytherins? There is no God!"

"Honestly, good luck with that. I hope McGonagall won't take more points if you don't succeed." George made a face. "Anyway, we'll see you later. Gotta run." They patted him on the back comfortingly and left the Great Hall hurriedly.

A little bit later there was an explosion at the Slytherin table. Figures.

* * *

><p>Marcus Flint sulked in the privacy of his own bed. His drapes were pulled so almost no light was let in, or any unwanted prying eyes. Slytherins weren't known for their respect of other people's privacy. He didn't want to do anything at all today, save for annoying Oliver Wood earlier. Look how well that turned out, he thought. He was still steaming over the situation.<p>

How was he going to make Malfoy and Potter get along… "working with" Wood of all people? If somebody took the words idiotic, sentimental, annoying, and combined it into one person, it would make Oliver Wood and the rest of the Gryffindors. At least Slytherins had personality. People from a house known purely for bravery usually meant that they had no brains. Isn't that right?

What if he didn't participate? What if he just let Malfoy run loose and watch the world burn? What would it matter to him if McGonagall threatened him?

Marcus brushed off his anger for the moment sat up in his bed. He reached into the desk beside his bed pulled out some ink-blotched parchment and a crumpled quill. With an elegant manner, he wrote a hasty note to Malfoy.

_Do not cause unnecessary trouble. If you must, do it in the dark._

By "in the dark", he obviously meant anywhere that wasn't the Great fucking Hall with a couple thousand witnesses.


	4. Cheer Up Oliver

Harry Potter woke up with a start. He was quite disoriented from the sudden wake, but he was also well enough to look around the room and comprehend what his eyes told him. His eyes widened and he hurried to put his glasses on. He was not expecting to find his dorm in such disarray.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

He was answered with crumpling of paper as his best friend Ron Weasley dug into his battered suitcase, no doubt looking for something. The ball of parchment landed right next to his bare feet to cozy up with everything else that happened to land by his bed.

"I was… so… sure I remembered… to pack it!" Ron gave up and flipped his suitcase over, spilling what was left of the contents. "I thought someone replaced my wand or something because _accio _didn't work! WHERE IS IT?"

"Well… you're not going to find it by yelling at it…" Harry yawned. "Do you think you can clean this up before anyone else wakes up? I don't think I can make it across the room without stepping on something of yours."

Ron sulked. "You don't have to worry about it. Everyone already left for lunch a while ago. Seamus promised to bring something back." He dug through a small pile of junk by his feet and picked up his wand. He flicked his wand harshly at his mess and a tongue of flame shot out. "OH BLOODY-!"

Harry stumbled out of his bed and grabbed his wand. He put out the small fire with water and the force of a waterfall. The result was a small lake by Ron's side of the room and the somewhat charred remains of… whatever it was. He didn't think the fire lasted long enough to do damage, but…

Ron frowned. "How am I supposed to clean that up?"

"You know… cleaning spells were never your thing…" Harry laughed. "Your mom is pretty good at them though."

Footsteps and laughing voices reached into the room. The door to the dormitory opened.

"What the…" Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas stared at the mess. They were each holding a big plate filled with sandwiches and croissants. Seamus' eyes widened at the pool of water that was slowly inching its way toward his bed. "Ron, what did you do? We were only gone for a little while!"

The redhead sighed and jumped into his bed with resignation. Miraculously he avoided the pool of water. "I set a bloody fire and Harry put it out. Do you think you can help me out?" He rolled over and begged. "I was always bullocks at cleaning charms."

After an unknown period of time where everyone in the room burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, Dean cleaned up the water, floated the remains of whatever it was into a nearby trash receptacle, and piled everything back into Ron's trunk haphazardly. Seamus would have helped but he was more prone to setting things on fire than Ron was. Dean looked at the charred and wet tongues of parchment in the trunk and said, "Sorry mate. It was the best I could do."

"What were you looking for anyway?" Seamus spoke up. He was propped up on Dean's bed eating sandwiches. Harry and Ron helped themselves to food and sat on the floor.

"Fred and George's new thing; they made me pack It in my trunk because they knew mum would look in theirs." Ron scrunched his face up. "It's just a box thing that collapses into your pocket even after you put stuff in it. I think I put it in my pocket during the train ride, but since it's not there I figured I must have put it back in my trunk…"

A picture of a box popped into Harry's head, and then an image of someone squeezing it into their pocket. He also had a similar flashback to the remembrall Neville had in his first year. "It must be Malfoy!" he shouted suddenly.

"Harry… mate…" Seamus pinched the bridge of his nose. "When would Malfoy have the opportunity to take Ron's box? I mean, he is a jerk and all, but you can hardly blame everything on him."

"Remember our second year?" Ron prompted, but Harry was already halfway out the door.

"I guess the only trouble is what was in the box in the first place." Seamus shrugged and continued eating. With that, Ron went after Harry.

* * *

><p>On Sunday the great hall was slightly darkened by the moving clouds. The candles kept their everlasting glow but the dark doughy nimbuses crawled across the sky menacingly. Oliver felt it reflected his mood perfectly. The great hall was almost empty, since the majority of the school seemed to have slept in. His sour disposition was only disrupted by occasional snippets of chatter and Katie's giggling.<p>

"Boy Oliver. You sure seem down. The year has just started you know." Alicia nudged him with her elbow gently. His other Chasers stopped their socializing and also looked at him worriedly.

"I think our boy needs some pumpkin juice." Katie made a move to pour him some.

"No…" Oliver whined. "I'm fine."

"Freddy and Georgie told me the whole thing," Angelina smiled. "It sure looks like you got yourself into a mess this time, huh!" Oliver frowned even more deeply. "Hey don't do that! You'll permanently damage that dashing face of yours!"

"Don't make it sound like it's MY fault." Oliver growled and took a swig from Katie's pumpkin juice. "I don't see why I have to be punished for Flint's stupidity. He's the one who started bothering me on the pitch. He's the reason why Quidditch has turned into a chore every time our team has to go up against him! Him and that stupid MALFOY! They have no sense of honor, rules…. THINGS YOU JUST DON'T DO. I hate them as much as anything, but I don't make an effort to mess up their lives!"

He snarled menacingly and got up. The three Gryffindor Chasers followed his retreating figure with intense worry.

"I know he's in love with Quidditch and all, but this is a bit too much, even for him."

"Honestly… it's never bothered him this much before. He's dealt with everything Flint tossed at him all these years. Do you think maybe he's had enough?" Alicia briefly glanced at the cup Oliver drank from.

"Maybe…"

"We have to tell Freddie and Georgie. I'm worried about him." The girls got up and left, leaving behind their breakfast which was half eaten.

* * *

><p>Throughout the following week, each time Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint had to be in the same room, there would be a noticeable tension filtering through the air. Most people took pains to avoid them, since the rumors started up about their supposed fight on the pitch and their subsequent punishment which only got more wild and graphic with each passing mouth. The Slytherins felt no need to avoid anything and almost welcomed a fight between the two. They were just that sort of people.<p>

The animosity was almost tangible, and they only ever had simple condescending greetings.

"Hello, _Flint_."

"Evening, _Wood_."

Flint went back to his plans over and over, scratching things out and adding more things. One time when he wasn't paying too much attention he drew five hoops for each side, and a jumble of players wafting through each other like a screen of smoke. Brooms entwined and the various positions were scattered across the page like broken glass. He was angry and more often than not his anger leaked into his scratchy drawings. When he screwed up his plans, his would put a dungbomb inside and throw it at Oliver who sat across the room in most of his classes. He would only do it when the Professors were not looking, and often Oliver would make a fuss.

Despite all that, both he and Oliver were at their best in McGonagall's transfiguration classes. Neither of them wanted to be punished, or aggravate her. During the first week, they were lucky, as both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter didn't show up in her radar.

It all changed when on Thursday, when they were both late to Professor McGonagall's class. It was unfortunate for them that everyone was already partnered up. Almost the whole lesson passed without them saying a word to each other while they both took turns transforming each other's clothes. The pair next to them was Fred and George, and each took turns transforming the other's clothes into costumes.

"Might as well get it over with."

Marcus and Oliver went through as many clothes as they could think of, from dress robes to a zebra fur coat. Sometimes their spells worked, and sometimes it didn't. It seems fate had a hand in that day as Fred's spell missed George and hit Flint instead.

The class went silent at the sight of Marcus Flint in a frilly nightgown with a checkered cap.

Oliver laughed the loudest that day, and his foul mood was gone. One had to wonder If Fred did it on purpose. Perhaps even McGonagall was in on it.

Nonetheless, Marcus Flint vowed revenge, and when a powerful Slytherin wants revenge, it's best to stay out of their way.


	5. Retaliate and Repent

A/N: It has been a while guys! I'm back.

* * *

><p>Marcus Flint was angry. The rage he contained inside himself was not something he could hold onto for long. He wanted to release it all on Oliver. Curse him into oblivion. Curse the twins. Curse every bloody Gryffindor. He almost wished Malfoy would start something with Potter again only if it gave him an excuse to walk over and punch the daylights out of him. Hex him. Destroy him. He just wanted a scapegoat to take his anger out on. It didn't matter who.<p>

Nobody made a fool of him like that and the amount of anger inside of him scared him a little. The whole school had kept the incident hush when he was around, but he knew they spoke of him when he wasn't around. When he didn't have the time or place to get back at them. He wanted the twins to pay for making a fool of him.

Hour after hour he tried to think of something that didn't include the most brutal death. In the end, he decided there was nothing better than the Quidditch change rooms. Almost nobody but the players went into them. Occasionally there were fans of the teams, or a boyfriend or girlfriend. It was the perfect place for an attack. That Friday evening he went into the Gryffindor showers, after everyone had left for dinner. They had finished up for the day. He looked around for something; anything that would give him the satisfaction of getting back at the twins, or even Oliver Wood. Or anybody on that cursed team.

"Flint."

Marcus stilled when he felt the tip of Oliver's wand gently sliding down the back of his neck. He smirked, "Wood. Don't you ever leave this place?"

"What are you doing here?" there was a noticeable stiffness to that voice. It was almost frightening how he was at the mercy of his enemy in a secluded place where no one would bear witness to an attack. He didn't stop and reflect that he had earlier planned to do the same thing.

When he didn't answer, Oliver jabbed the wand harder into his neck. Marcus turned around and smirked as innocently as he could. His head was held high by his rival's wand and he didn't dare bring it down. The look in Oliver's eyes told him that the wand wasn't just a threat, as it was more of a promise.

"Just exploring." He answered as simply and honestly as he wanted to be. It was not a total lie.

"In the Gryffindor change rooms?" The hardness of Oliver's eyes intensified. "Really?"

"Yes really." Marcus shrugged and backed up. Normally he wouldn't, but he could have sworn Oliver was trying to stab a hole into his neck. "It's not a crime."

"No Slytherin ever comes into the Gryffindor change rooms on purpose. You must have wanted to do something." Oliver took a step forward. "Looking is not a crime I suppose, but if you lay a single hair on one of my teammates, you will get it from me."

"Do you promise?" Marcus laughed, although inside he was feeling uneasy, and very angry. His wand was in his pocket. If only he could just take it out and hex the daylights out of Wood. "Who'd want forgiveness from the likes of you?"

Oliver continued glaring at him until Marcus held up his hands and waved him off. "Alright, alright. I'm leaving! See, I'm walking away."

Marcus made for the door in a slow even pace. He didn't want to look like he was running away. A locker door slammed behind him and suddenly he was struck with an idea. He made to leave the change area and closed the door loudly, pretending to have left. He hid behind an outcrop of a wall and watched as Oliver turned his back to him, putting his wand in his robe pocket. Perfect.

As Oliver leaned down to put his things away into his bag, Marcus jumped from the shadows nimbly and grabbed Oliver's wand from inside his robes. Oliver did not have enough time to react and soon he was crumpled against a wall with Marcus brandishing his own wand at him. He cringed as he took his hand off his face, looking at the miniscule dollops of blood sitting in his palm. He probably bit his lip as his enemy pushed him.

"I seem to have forgotten something." Marcus laughed loudly and obnoxiously. He twirled the wand in the air testing out the weight.

"I… I should have known." Oliver sneered through his bloodied lip. "I was too trusting, thinking that you left, you dirty, stinking, _ugly_ troll-ugh!"

Marcus kicked him in the ribs out of anger and spite, too late for him to erase those words from existence. His emotions were swirling within him like a hurricane, kicking up dust and re-opening old wounds. The hurt his kick inflicted on Oliver Wood did nothing to absolve him of the ancient feelings of unrest that made his heart beat faster. He wouldn't have even felt this way if he just kept his emotions under control. He had been losing a lot of control lately especially when it came to Wood.

Marcus wanted to curse him so badly, but in his excitement and feverish haze he couldn't think of any. Oliver gasped and coughed. He didn't look any worse for wear but his weariness caught up to him when he was backed into the wall. "You've gone too far Marcus Flint! McGonagall will hear about this!"

"How about you beg for your safety, Wood?" Marcus poked the wand into the Gryffindor's now-bruising ribcage, mocking him and looking for retaliation. "I won't hurt you if you apologize for yesterday. How do you go about becoming the saviour of the team? If you do this, I won't hurt your teammates with your own wand!" He couldn't help but laugh at the situation. He felt oddly disappointed despite being the one in power. It wasn't how he imagined bringing down his opponent, nor did he predict the sting at the base of his stomach caused by his scattered emotions. He wasn't quite sure what to feel.

"I… don't believe you." Oliver groaned. He sobered up when his own wand whipped him in the face gently. It sort of hurt, but it was nothing compared to his inner turmoil. He stared defiantly at his captor, wondering how he could have trusted a _Slytherin _to leave quietly without ruckus. Maybe it was a Gryffindor trait. "You'll get expelled for this!"

Marcus fell silent. He hadn't thought about it. He decided to bluff it. "It'll be worth it, I suppose."

Oliver made a mad grab for his wand, but Marcus backed up, shouting the first thing that came to his head. His heart almost stopped in panic, but in the uncensored part of his emotion, he shivered with delight, "_Cruci-_"

Oliver stilled and closed his eyes for what was to come, shell-shocked at everything that happened. This was too much of a reaction for just a bit of harmless embarrassment. He didn't think Marcus would ever go this far to get even with him even as his opinion of Slytherin was lower than low. He didn't think his rival was this kind of a person. He didn't think the Marcus Flint he knew was a cold dark killer. His thoughts were flying through his head in impossible speeds. He always thought, _he always thought_-

But it never came. He opened his eyes again, blinking back the anxiety that gripped him earlier.

The air inside the change rooms was undesirable and thick, and Oliver saw that neither of them could believe what Marcus could have attempted, much less said. Both their hearts were pounding madly in their cages, and when Oliver finally saw the conflict and disbelief in his eyes, he realized then and there that he had never looked Marcus Flint in the eyes. Of all the other times he confronted the boy, he only looked at his face, never delving deeper because it would only make him more human in the eyes of his ideals. Ideals that he didn't want to believe any Slytherin had.

They both knew he had gone too far. He had already gone too far when he ambushed him from behind, but nothing compared to this.

Both of them stood there for what seemed a long time. Oliver wanted to leave, but he wasn't quite sure what Marcus Flint's state of mind was. Fueled by anger and adrenaline, he probably shouted the first thing that would do the most damage. All because he himself let his guard down and let Marcus get the better of him. It was unbelievable how simple the ignition was and how much it escalated almost beyond the point of recovery. And within the time the two stood together in silence, Oliver realized that Marcus Flint was afraid of what his potential could bring him.

Marcus Flint was afraid of himself.

It was only five days into the school year, a year like all the others that came before it, and something terrible had almost happened even if Marcus was not willful enough to complete the spell. Despite overpowering Oliver, he had unwittingly let his worst enemy into his heart to dissect.

Woe be it for an enemy to know your deepest fear.


End file.
